Brought to his knees before the kingdom after ten years of hiding, Kyros believed that he would be sentenced to death for the murder of his pack. His sentence would mean the end of it all - his torment, his abuse, his turmoil.
But his destiny change...
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The large, grandeur size of the door opened silently and revealed a dimly lit room. The shadows of two figures were cast upon the carpet and when they stepped into the room, they were soaked in light, revealing their identities.
Kyros had never seen anything like it. Asheria's bedroom was massive and undeniably beautiful. He had a hard time figuring out where to look first, and what to take in first. But somehow, his sight landed on the ceilings first. They were intricately painted in alluring, pastel colors that depicted scenes of wolves, battles, death, and prosperity.
He could make out images of kings and queens, and he wondered if they bore the lineage of Asheria.
His eyes traveled down the walls, and he marveled at them. They seemed so elaborate and carefully crafted. Everything in the room seemed carefully crafted. The furniture, the decorations, the rugs, the bed, the drapes.
The bed was the biggest he had ever seen. It looked fluffy and was lavished in a rich, red color. He could imagine the softness of it. Was it silky or plush in texture? The bed was framed in what appeared to be wood painted with dazzling gold.
He felt out of place in such a splendorous world. It felt like he didn't belong in a place of wealth.
A couch was placed against the foot of the bed, large and soft. The color matched the sheets of the bed and a big, brown blanket was draped across it. It looked like it was made of bear fur.
"You may sleep there if you wish," Asheria spoke softly.
He nodded. He would prefer to sleep on the couch than in the bed with Asheria. Just because he knew he could trust somebody didn't mean it was easy to. The chains which held his wrists and caged his mind wouldn't be so easily melted by the presence of kindness and words which dripped from the mouth like honey.
He had been forced into situations where his trust was sacrificed. He was emotionally and mentally scarred from the ordeals Candie and others had put him through, leaving him distant and hurt. Candie had used him during his most vulnerable moments and manipulated him into acts he didn't wish to commit.
And he felt dirty.
So dirty, in fact, that he felt like he could taint Asheria's bed with his filth.
He didn't know how to make the crawling feeling go away.
He didn't know how to fix his severed trust, but how could he fix such a thing when he didn't even notice it as a problem in the first place?
He thought he was just being himself. He thought he was always like this. Broken trust became so normal to him that he confused it with being a normal part of his anatomy.
How could one repair something when they don't even know it needs to be repaired in the first place?
He took his place on the couch. His rough hands skimmed through the soft fur of the blanket. Comforting. Pleasing to the touch. His fingers constantly twitched, and his eyes flickered around him. His foot tapped ever so slightly against the floor.
